Coffee and Cigarettes

My eyes were shut, but I was really awake. I was conscious of everything around me, but my eyes weren't open. So when Bob and presumably Libby came bounding into my room in what seemed like a panic, I immediately shot up out of my bed to see what was wrong.

"What is it?" I rubbed my eyes, looking at Bob and Libby, who both displayed identical faces of horror and fear.

"It's Blair," Bob said, grabbing my hand and dragging me to my sister's room. "Something's wrong."

We rushed to Blair's room and she was collapsed in a heap on the floor. I ran to her side...she seemed even more frail than usual. Her body had become nearly paper thin, her skin seemed almost translucent in the light of the sun.

I lifted her gingerly off the floor and noticed something right away.

She felt as if she was on fire.

"Oh, no..." I muttered. "Call 911."

"What's going on?" Libby asked, sounding frightened.

"It's her immune system," I said, explaining it to her calmly. "The AIDS virus in her body has weakened it, and now even the smallest of illnesses could seriously do some damage. Right now, she has a fever of probably 104."

"That's bad," Bob's eyes widened. "I'm telling Mom and Dad."

Libby ran off to call 911. I stroked Blair's hair, trying to coax her awake. "Bee, wake up," I whispered to her, a tear rolling off my cheek and falling onto hers. "Please wake up..."

Her eyes cracked open slightly. "Morgan?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah?" I sniffled, moving her bangs out of her eyes.

She choked back a sob. "Am I dying?"

"No, sweetie," I said, forcing myself to smile, even though I couldn't keep the tears from cascading down my face. "You're going to be just fine. I promise."

Everything after that was a messy blur.

I remember that the ambulance came. The paramedics took Blair and brought her to the hospital.

I remember Mom and Dad crying.

Bob crying.

Libby crying.

Me crying.

Just one big mess of tears, and there was nothing we could do.

I think that the waiting room is the absolute worst. All you can do is sit and wait for either something good or something bad, although it's usually the latter and not the former. All five of us sat in the waiting room, gripping onto each other, waiting for something--anything at all.

A doctor approached us.

All of us held our breath as he sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

I felt my heart stop beating as four tiny words slipped out of his mouth.

"I have bad news."